BELINDA. So much nicer than a chemist.
DELIA. Now, Claude started with nothing to do.
BELINDA (_mildly_). Do you always call him Claude, darling? I hope
you aren't going to grow into a flirt like that horrid Mrs. Tremayne.
DELIA. Silly mother! (_She moves to_ BELINDA, _takes her cup,
then crosses to the table and places both the cups on the table--
seriously_.) I don't think he'll ever be any good till he really gets
work. Did you notice his hair this evening?
BELINDA (_dreamily_). Whose, dear?
DELIA (_going to the back of the Chesterfield and to the_ L. _of_
BELINDA). Mummy, look me in the eye and tell me you are not being bad.
BELINDA (_having playfully turned her head away and hidden her face
with her handkerchief, says innocently_). Bad, darling?
DELIA (_moving down to the front of the fireplace_). You've made
Mr. Robinson fall in love with you.
BELINDA (_happily_). Have I?
DELIA. Yes; it's serious this time. He's not like the other two.
BELINDA. However did you know that?
DELIA. Oh, I know.
BELINDA. Darling, I believe you've grown up. It's quite time I settled
down.
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